Beyond Ambivalence: Postmodernity and the Ethics of Translation

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KAISA KOSKINEN

Beyond Ambivalence

Postmodernity and the Ethics of Translation

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Beyond Ambivalence

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KAISA KOSKINEN

ACADEMIC DISSERTATION To be presented, with the permission of

the Faculty of Humanities of the University of Tampere, for public discussion in the Lecture Theatre A 311

of the Pyynikki Building, Pyynikintie 2, Tampere, on November 18th, 2000, at 12 o’clock.

Beyond Ambivalence

Postmodernity and the Ethics of Translation

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Acknowledgements

One of the basic tenets of this thesis is that translation always takes place in a context.

The same is true of academic research, where the most important context is that consisting of other people. First of all, I want to thank my supervisor, Professor Krista Varantola, for always being there for me and for never pressing her own views or preferences. I am also grateful to Professors Susan Bassnett and Andrew Chesterman for their invaluable comments on my licentiate thesis, and for their careful reading of the previous drafts of this dissertation.

Research is solitary work, but the most important developments often take place in discussions with others. I have greatly enjoyed the dialogues and discussions I have had in the graduate seminars in Tampere, in the AKO seminars in Helsinki, and in the meetings of Langnet students. In particular, I want to thank Professors Anna Mauranen and Liisa Tiittula, and my colleagues and friends Pia von Essen, Şebnem Susam Sarajeva and Erkka Vuorinen. A very special thank you I owe to Outi Paloposki, for both her unfailing support and for all our inspiring discussions.

In many ways, this thesis builds on my undergraduate years. I want to use the opportunity to thank Heli Mäntyranta, my very first teacher of translation, and Riitta Oittinen, my teacher, colleague and friend, for widening my perspective on translation and for showing how fascinating it can be. My teachers at the Department of Literature deserve the credit for first arousing my interest in theoretical thinking.

During the course of writing this dissertation, there have been times when my own faith in the project has wavered. At those moments, it has been crucially important to get the support and encouragement from others. My warm thanks to Seija Paddon, Ritva Leppihalme and Emma Wagner. Mental support is invaluable, but material support is also necessary: I am grateful for the financial support received from Tampere University, the Emil Aaltonen Foundation and the Academy of Finland. I also want to thank Roger Luke for checking my English.

Warm thanks are also due to my husband Jaakko Hietala and my parents Hilkka and Aati Koskinen, who have made this project possible by giving me time and space for writing and thinking – and by rushing to my rescue at moments of crises (such as that unforgettable morning when the family was hit by chickenpox the morning I was due to leave for a seminar abroad). I dedicate this book to Lauri, Henri and Ilari, my three great sources of joy and constant reminders that there is more to life than mere research.

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Abstract

Keywords: ethics, postmodernity, deconstruction, visibility

This study on the ethics of translation focuses on recent developments within the field of translation studies. Centred around the notion of the postmodern, it attempts to analyse and assess the state of the art in the ethics of translation in contemporary translation theory. It deals with new developments such as feminist translation, deconstruction, and postcolonial theories. Within the general framework of contemporary theories, the work of Lawrence Venuti (minoritising translation) and Anthony Pym (the ethics of intercultural cooperation) is subjected to a deconstructive analysis.

The analysis reveals that Venuti and Pym, who are seldom studied together and are often seen to represent very different approaches to translation, actually have several

‘postmodern’ traits in common. Their views are not identical, but they both focus on similar issues. The questions that both models seek to answer indicate areas we need to chart if we want to put forward meaningful postmodern theories of the ethics of translation. Among the fundamental issues are the dichotomies of translation theory, the vexed question of translators’ visibility and trust, as well as untying the deadlock of fidelity. Venuti’s and Pym’s ethics are also both based on an understanding that responsibilities and moral commitments cannot be determined by focusing on the immediate translation commission alone. In addition to the immediate relationships between the author, commissioner, translator and reader, each individual translation project is also part of a larger network that needs to be taken into account in decision- making.

The main thrust of this thesis is theoretical, but Venuti’s and Pym’s positions are also put to the test in two case studies (Manuel Puig’s novel Boquitas pintadas and its two translations, and translating in the European Commission), shedding light on the problems of the ethics of translation and the role of the translator in both literary and non-literary translation. The case studies show that both Venuti’s and Pym’s conceptual frameworks can be fruitfully employed, but they also indicate that real-life situations are more complex than theoretical maxims allow for.

In this thesis it is my goal to provide a critical overview of the postmodern tendencies in translation theories, with particular emphasis on deconstruction and associated theories. Within translation studies, the new approaches have successfully pointed out the failures and omissions of previous viewpoints, bringing to the forefront issues like the masculine bias of many translation theories or the limits of the Western/European perspective in translation studies. Reading the postmodern approaches together one can also identify several shared aspects, such as the need to overcome the logic of either/or, to acknowledge the situationality of translation, and to take into account both individual and collective aspects of morality and ethics, as well as the necessity to rethink the question of where to draw the limits of translators’

contextual responsibilities. These features indicate directions for future discussions.

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Preface

For anyone interested in theorising about translation, the 1990s was a fascinating period. We witnessed a veritable fireworks of challenging new approaches.

Redefinitions of translation have ranged from cannibalism to carnivalism, from hijacking to subversion, and from manipulatory rewriting to regulated transformation.

All these approaches have a common feature: they are all attempts to rethink the role of the translator. They all renounce the image of a subordinate faithful servant, turning to radically different metaphors of emancipation. Subversion or manipulation are hard to accommodate with an ethics of fidelity. It is therefore both interesting and necessary to search for an ethical framework compatible with our contemporary perceptions of translation. This is the path I travelled in the course of my dissertation project: I was originally interested in the redefinitions of the role of the translator (see Koskinen 1994a), but it soon became obvious that they also have a bearing on the ethics of translation. And vice versa, reflecting on how the new approaches fare ethically is a good way of revealing their strengths and weaknesses.

The focus of this thesis is on recent developments, and I will mainly concentrate on the theoretical statements and positions put forward during the 1990s.

Trying to grasp the most significant and lasting features of contemporary trends and lines of thought is a perilous task, the accuracy of which can only be assessed with hindsight. In charting the contemporary views, I have found it useful to tie the various novel traits to the notion of ‘postmodernity’. One of the most fashionable concepts in academic discussions since the 1980s, it has acquired numerous interpretations, some of them extremely pejorative, some uncritically appreciative. In my own usage, the concept is used as a rather neutral way of grasping the wider social and theoretical context of the various reformulations of the role and ethics of translation in the 1990s.

The new approaches feed and reflect on certain social and theoretical developments.

Within the sphere of ‘postmodern’ theories, deconstruction is the one most intimately involved in translation studies: in most new approaches to translation (be they feminist, cannibalist, postcolonialist or cultural materialist), deconstruction and Jacques Derrida are explicitly mentioned, either extensively or in passing, and deconstruction has also been the subject of heated theoretical debates between them (see Chapter 3.2. below).

For me personally, deconstruction is an old acquaintance, and has featured in my academic pursuits since undergraduate seminars. However, when I started writing this dissertation, I decided to set deconstruction aside, and concentrate on ethical theories, focusing on developments within translation studies itself. But working on the two explicit efforts to develop a new ethics of translation – minoritising translation by Lawrence Venuti and the ethics of interculturality by Anthony Pym – I soon realised how useful the framework of deconstruction would be for my analysis. Many central notions of both Venuti’s and Pym’s argumentation continuously revolve around issues related to the postmodern condition, standing in direct relation to some

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of the central themes of deconstruction (such as dichotomies, textuality, and undecidability). Deconstruction thus offered a conceptual grid tying together the various details and ‘teasing out’ relations and connections that are not immediately visible on the surface of these two approaches. In a way, it also ties together Pym’s and Venuti’s contributions. Pym has been its most vehement critic, and has repeatedly stressed its uselessness or even harmfulness in the search for a new ethics of translation. Venuti, then, is openly in favour of deconstruction and other poststructural trends. Deconstruction, and postmodern ethics in general, therefore functions as a fruitful point of reference in analysing the two proposals for a new ethics of translation.

Since the focus on deconstruction ‘imposed’ itself, I decided to make a complete about-face: instead of avoiding the inclusion of deconstruction, I chose it as one of the central pathways on my search for a new ethics of translation, the axis around which I rotate my analysis of contemporary translation studies. In other words, deconstruction functions as a tool that assists me in fulfilling the central aim of the thesis, that is, in analysing and assessing the state of the art in the ethics of translation in contemporary translation theory. But the decision to give it a central role also led to an important side-product: this dissertation is also an attempt at working through deconstruction in translation studies, offering a critical overview of the deconstructive approaches to translation and analysing its impact on different viewpoints.

Fully aware that the ‘orthodox’ view of deconstruction is that it is not a method, I still use it as a methodological strategy. In the following, it is my intention to produce a double reading of Venuti’s and Pym’s contributions to the ethics of translation:

trying to read both with them and also against them, that is, locating the moments of contradiction and undecidability, points where the text turns against itself. Whereas deconstruction is often perceived as a negative form of criticism, as a ‘politics of suspicion’, my own aim is inherently positive. I have chosen to take these two theorists under scrutiny because of an initial belief that they have something to offer, and in reading their texts closely it is my aim to highlight their values, as well as offer a (de)constructive critique of certain problematic issues.

The main thrust of this thesis is theoretical, but Venuti’s and Pym’s positions are also put to the test in two case studies (Manuel Puig’s novel Boquitas pintadas and its two translations, and translating in the Commission of the European Union), shedding light on the problems of the ethics of translation and the role of the translator in both literary and non-literary translation. This is, for me, a significant issue. While different text types and genres of translation naturally set different demands and constraints on the translator, I see no reason why translation theories should be limited to bear only on either literary or non-literary translation. I have, for instance, found concepts like intertextuality or visibility, often linked with literary translation, extremely useful within the context of EU translation. Translation theory has a long history of emphasising literary translation, and even though the practice has developed to many interesting non-literary directions, the legacy of literary translation theory is still strong in translation studies today. Most of the new approaches to translation in the 1990s (e.g., feminist translation and cannibalism) still largely concentrate on literary translation. There are, however, also promising signs of change, and some new frameworks, like skopos theory, explicitly build on non-literary translation. The same

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division can be seen in the two new ethics of translation: while Venuti completely excludes non-literary translation, Pym’s framework is built on it.

This thesis belongs to the field of translation studies, and I have intentionally tried to avoid bringing in too much material from other disciplines. But the focus on ethics necessitates some philosophical background, even if I did not want to attempt to produce a commentary of the whole (long and impressive) tradition of moral philosophy. In keeping with my emphasis on recent translation theories, I also concentrate on recent developments in philosophical thinking, focusing on the ideas of postmodernity. Before moving on to the analysis of postmodernity and the ethics of translation, it is necessary to define how ethics is perceived in this study. In everyday language ‘ethical’ and ‘moral’ are often used as more or less synonymous terms, but in theoretical discussions the two concepts are differentiated in a variety of ways. For example, ethics can be equated with morals, or collective morality, which is further equated with codes of practice, but, secondly, ethics is also used to denote moral philosophy or metaethics (see, e.g., Pietarinen and Poutanen 1998, 12;

Pursiainen 1999, 45). In this study, my own perception of the two terms and their relation to each other is different: I see morality as a characteristic not of communities but of individuals, and ethics as ‘collectivised’ morality, as a collective effort of a community to formulate a set of rules or recommendations of accepted moral behaviour (see also Bauman 1993, 61).

While morality and ethics are thus interconnected, morality being a sort of

‘personalised ethics’ and ethics ‘collectivised morality’, they are not the same, and no code of ethics can function as a precondition or guarantee of moral action. It follows that while my aim is to produce an analysis of two ethical theories of translation, and while I consider it extremely important to reflect on the moral and ethical aspects of translation, it is not my goal to formulate my own ethical code. In other words, my project is metaethical in that I will analyse and comment on ethical theories rather than the praxis of translation (in the two case studies the theoretical views are then put in interaction with real-life situations), and it is analytical rather than normative in that my aim is to produce a conceptual analysis of the theories in question, not to formulate moral principles or codes of practice (for more on different types of ethical theory, see Pietarinen and Poutanen 1998). It might, therefore, be appropriate to issue a warning similar to the one Zygmunt Bauman offered at the beginning of his Postmodern Ethics:

The reader should be warned: no ethical code will emerge at the end of this exploration; nor could an ethical code be contemplated in the light of what will be found in its course. The kind of understanding of the moral self’s condition which the postmodern vantage point allows is unlikely to make moral life easier. The most it can dream of is making it a bit more moral.

(Bauman 1993, 15)

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1. Introduction

Moral choices

Throughout its history, discourse on translation has included strong moralising overtones: many, if not most, contributions either explicitly or implicitly dwell on the issue of how translations ought to be produced. It is also often argued that the activity of translation has always been exceptionally regulated and suspect. Famous dictums like traduttore, traditore feed on a feeling of mistrust. The origins of this moralising tendency can be found in the mythical origins of translation. Among the popular myths explaining the extraordinary fact that we humans have so many different languages, one of the best-known is the biblical myth of Babel. According to it, the ambitious project of building a tower reaching up to heaven makes God angry and afraid of losing his own position. In order to end the project, he punishes humans with the eternal pain of translation by fragmenting the pure tongue of Eden into pieces. Each language can thus only grasp and reflect its own fraction of reality: ‘Being erratic blocks, all languages share in a common myopia; none can articulate the whole truth of God or give its speakers a key to the meaning of existence. Translators are men groping towards each other in a common mist.’ (Steiner 1992, 65) According to the myth of Babel, translation is thus a curse, an evil at the same time necessary and impossible (Derrida 1985a).¹

The Babelic curse, together with a strong emphasis on Bible translations and classic texts, has left its mark on the history of Western translation theory.

Traditionally, the ethics of translation has often been sought for via the concept of fidelity. The dichotomy of faithful versus free translations reflected a world view of Divine creation and Divine monitoring. In that context, free will could only mean freedom to choose wrong over right, to depart from the Divine order (Bauman 1993, 4). Being in the right, on the other hand, contained no choice but rather the avoidance of choice. Faithful translation was the one and only, while free rewritings were many, and all of them ‘wrong’ and suspect. The assumption that free will always produces wrong choices, that unmonitored freedom always verges on licentiousness, led to the conclusion that translators’ freedom needs to be bridled in order to prevent them from using it to do wrong (see also Bauman 1993, 7). To start making choices would lead to infidelity. The ethical code could thus be seen to consist, in short, of the requirement to refrain from choosing.

There had, of course, been debates, dissident voices and even periods when translation was considered from a different point of view, but a more decisive change of perspective can be seen to originate in the Romanticism of the late 18th and early 19th century. Instead of the ideals of fidelity and sameness between source and target texts, the German Romantics began to build their theories of translation around the problem of cultural differences. The most valuable aspect of the foreign was its

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foreignness, the way it differed from the domestic, and the task of the translator was to find ways to convey this difference (see, e.g., Schleiermacher 1977 [1813]; see also Steiner 1992, 249 and Hirsch 1997, 397).² At the same time, emphasis shifted away from the theological context, towards literary discussions. But theological overtones remained: instead of contemplating how to translate God’s holy word, the discussions were centred around the problem of how to recreate divine poetic inspiration (e.g., Wackenroder [1797] and Novalis [1798], in Furst (ed.) 1980, 55 and 69).

Today, the centre of translational debate is within the academic field of translation studies, and literary translation has gradually given way to a wider variety of text types. The contemporary world view has little space for any preordained conditions, stressing issues like individuality and the plurality of choices: ‘The choice is not between following the rules and breaking them, as there is no one set of rules to be obeyed or breached. The choice is, rather, between different sets of rules and different authorities preaching them.’ (Bauman 1993, 20) No wonder, then, that the contemporary understanding of the process of translation is also strikingly different from the dichotomy of faithful versus free translation: choice, conscious or not, is now rather seen as an essential feature of all translation. For instance, during the past few decades translating has been defined as a decision process (Levý 1989 [1967]); it has been studied from the point of view of shifts (Popovi¥ 1970); it has been seen as a process of choosing and transmitting relevant information (Gutt 1991) and as a process of defining the adequate skopos of the translation and deciding on the optimal strategy to achieve it (Vermeer 1996). The basic imperative of translation is, according to Anthony Pym, ‘Decide!’ (1992a, 174).

The stress on freedom of choice is not only a message of liberation but also of responsibility. Making choices can be difficult, painful and risky. The experience of freedom can be sweet but also bitter:

The bitter experience in question is the experience of freedom: of the misery of life composed of risky choices, which always mean taking some chances while forfeiting others, or incurable uncertainty built into the unknown consequences of every choice, of the constant fear of foreclosing the future and yet unforeseen possibilities, of the dread of personal inadequacy, of experiencing less and not so strongly as others perhaps do, of the nightmare of being not up to the new and improved formulae of life which the notoriously capricious future may bring.

(Bauman 1997, 183)

If translating is seen as a process of making choices, it follows that it by definition includes moral aspects and value judgements. As Bauman argues, evaluation is an indispensable part of choosing (1993, 4–5). If there were only one correct line of action, following it would not require consulting one’s moral conscience, but as soon as there exists more than one option, choosing between them necessitates (among other things, of course) moral considerations, and the choice can also be judged and valued by others from the point of view of ethics and morality. In other words, the chooser cannot escape the responsibility for the choice (Bauman 1997, 202). Ethics, then, can be seen as attempts to evaluate and justify choices and actions. Basically, one can interpret all translational rules as ethical decisions (Pym 1992a, 174).

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The ethics of translation is twofold: it contains collective, professional aspects as well as the translator’s individual morality. Collective efforts to formulate ethical guidelines include codes of practice, legal obligations (copyright, translation contract), social expectations of ‘good’ translation practice, and the norms that govern translation in a particular situation. Discussions on the ethics of translation have often limited themselves to the professional dimension, but as our awareness of the various influences of translation has increased, it has become more and more evident that it is also relevant to contemplate how to resolve situations where professional ethics clash with the translators’ personal moral convictions (see Robinson 1997b, 31–33).

Ethics is not just reserved for special occasions, for solemn speeches and pompous declarations. It is an essential aspect of translators’ everyday work. For example, translating from Finnish, a language with no grammatical gender, into English (or any other language that requires the distinction) translators regularly need to make decisions on how to handle the problem of ‘he or she’. In making the decision they need to take into account the normative solutions, as well as try to keep track of the changing norm, but the choice is also balanced with their own relation to the feminist cause. From the point of view of morality, it is not sufficient simply to follow the norm: they need to decide whether they want to steer the conservative route, or whether they wish to participate in the process of changing that norm. Furthermore, the choice needs to be considered from the point of view of the source text, and its original writer, as well as the socio-historical context of its production, and if the attitudes clash, the translator needs to choose whether it is morally acceptable to force a conservative translation strategy on a radical text or vice versa, and decide what relevance to assign to the ways in which the text reflects the original context (for instance in the case of a text dating from a period prior to the rise of the whole issue of gendered language). The problem of ‘he or she’ is mundane in its generality, but from the point of view of ethics, its repercussions are manyfold.

As the above example indicates, the morality of an individual translator is grounded in the collective, either agreeing with it, or going against it, i.e.

counterbalancing it. Collective guidelines, like norms, are thus a central background force for moral choices. First of all, norms and conventions are a great source of relief:

without them the abundance of choices would be paralysing, and there would be no way of evaluating different solutions apart from subjective preferences. But norms do not free one from responsibility, nor do they guarantee morality. When outdated or otherwise not suited for the particularities of the situation, norms can also be a veritable straitjacket, constraining the translator and preventing moral action. On occasion it may happen that ‘society supports the moral self much like the rope supports the hanged man – norms being the rope and reason the ropemaker’ (Bauman 1993, 116).

The dual nature of norms is a clear indication that the collective level alone is not a sufficient ground for morality: morality is, in the end, an individual quality, and moral action may require breaching the collective rules. In fact, collective codes and norms are in a state of constant change, and redefinitions are a result of the occasions where it has been necessary not to follow them. It thus also follows that at any particular time and place there probably coexist several competing norms, some of

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them in decline, some dominant, and some only emerging or marginal (as in the case of ‘he or she’) (see also Toury 1995, 62).

As a representation of an idea of how translations ought to be made, any norm can be seen to include ethical aspects, but it is also possible to discern particular ethical norms that aim to guide moral action. All attempts to formulate an ethics of translation can be seen as proposals for ethical norms, but the expected behaviour can also be tacitly assumed rather than expressly stated. Like any ethical codes, the ethical norms of translation are based on an assumption that moral conduct can be translated into universal rules, ‘the moral “I” being just a singular form of the ethical “us”’

(Bauman 1993, 47). In practice, the collective ‘we’ is not a harmonious group of identical ‘I’s, but a whole ‘knit together, and continuously knit together’ out of individual moral selves (ibid., 48). This is the paradox of ethics: the only route to universality passes through a multitude of individuals, with their different values, aims and situations.

From the ethics of sameness towards the ethics of difference

Defining translating as a process of choosing and decision-making creates problems for anyone trying to explore the ethics of translation. If any decision includes moral aspects, it follows that any act of translation, and any theoretical treatise on it, can be read from the point of view of ethics. It becomes obvious that conclusive historical charting of the ethics of translation is, if not impossible, an enormous task. It also lies beyond the scope of the present study. Rather than analysing its history, I will concentrate on the contemporary developments in the ethics of translation. But of course one needs to know the past to understand the present, let alone the future.

Translation studies has its roots in pragmatic aims. Especially in its early phases it was closely tied up with pedagogical goals, leading to a need for normative statements that could be used in translator training. There are also contemporary representatives of the pedagogical approach: for instance, the scholarly work of a theorist such as Peter Newmark stems from pedagogical considerations, and the general aim of providing both trainee translators and professionals with tools for improvement runs through the texts of a descriptive theorist like Andrew Chesterman, explicitly non-normative as his approach is (see, e.g., Newmark 1988; Chesterman 1997). Another central consideration especially in the early phases was the need to find a theoretical basis that would lead to improved quality of translations. The driving force behind Eugene A. Nida’s influential theory of functional equivalence in the 1960s, for example, was the need to develop a theoretical framework to assist Bible translators in producing better translations (see Nida 1964; Nida and Taber 1969).

While pedagogical aims will no doubt always be a part of translation studies, and while translation quality assessment has been among the favourite topics of recent discussions (see, e.g., Schäffner (ed.) 1998), one could still argue that in translation theory there has been a gradual shift from an emphasis on sameness (fidelity, equivalence) and normativeness to an understanding and acceptance of difference in translation. In fact one could even maintain that contemporary translation studies as a discipline is an extended effort to analyse and explain the differences between source

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and target texts. Among the pioneers of this emphasis was a group of translation theorists with a formalist background, most notably Jiíí Levý and Anton Popovi¥. In 1970, Popovi¥, introducing the notion of shifts, grounded his theory of translation on the differences between the original and the translation. He argued that ‘translation by its very nature entails certain shifts of intellectual and aesthetic values’ (1970, 78).

These shifts ‘are determined by the differences between the two languages, the two authors, and the two literary situations involved’ (ibid., 79). Within the sphere of ethics, the new stress on differences did not, however, indicate a shift away from the ethics of sameness as expressed by the notion of fidelity. Even though Popovi¥ maintained that the translator has ‘the right to differ organically, to be independent’, this independence was kept in check by the principal demand for faithfulness.

According to Popovi¥, changes were only acceptable if they were necessary ‘for the sake of the original’ (ibid., 80).

In the 1970s, the groundbreaking work of Levý and Popovi¥ was supported and continued by similar developments in the Netherlands and Belgium. Also influenced by the formalist approach, a group of scholars launched a project of establishing a full- fledged discipline of translation studies.³ Among the leading figures were James Holmes and André Lefevere. Drawing on Levý’s argument of translation as a decision process, Holmes insisted that the task of the empirical and descriptive science of translation is to analyse the choices made in actual translations. According to him, the notion of equivalence that had gained currency in translation theory, most notably via the pioneering work of Eugene A. Nida, missed the point of what translation is all about:

Now put five translators onto rendering even a syntactically straight-forward, metrically unbound, imagically simple poem like Carl Sandburg’s ‘Fog’ into, say, Dutch. The chances that any two of the five translations will be identical are very slight indeed. Then set twenty-five other translators into turning the five Dutch versions back into English, five translators to a version. Again, the result will almost certainly be as many renderings as there are translators. To call this equivalence is perverse.

(1973, reprinted in Holmes 1988, 53)

The point made by Holmes was also brought up by André Lefevere in his Translating Poetry: Seven Strategies and a Blueprint (1975), where he described and analysed seven different translations of one poem. Initially, his project seems like a test case for Holmes’s argument, as he demonstrates how each strategy opens certain possibilities but rules out some others. However, in his conclusion we witness a rather unexpected return to equivalence-based ethics. The translator’s task, Lefevere argues, is to render the original author’s interpretation of a given theme by replacing ‘all the variations contained in the source text by their equivalents’ (1975, 99). During the 1980s, the prescriptiveness of early Lefevere gives way to contemplations of power, ideology and constraints affecting the work of the translator as well as the translation scholar (e.g., Lefevere 1992). As a leading exponent of what has sometimes been labelled the manipulation school, Lefevere has increased our awareness of the complex sets of situational factors affecting the translator’s decisions. Translation, the argument runs, always involves manipulation. The translator cannot escape the ideological and

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cultural constraints which always tilt the translation in one direction or another. But even though it brings the problem of ethics into the forefront, the idea of translation as manipulation sidesteps the issue by stressing the inescapable infidelity of all translation.

In the 1980s, the question of ethics was not among the most popular themes for study. The emphasis was, and still largely is, on descriptive theory. In contrast to previous prescriptive tendencies, it became ‘academically correct’ for theorists to announce their aim to be purely descriptive and to produce objective, empirical facts without value judgements. The manipulation approach, as well as many other current theoretical trends, drew heavily on the work of Israeli scholars with strong descriptive preferences, particularly Itamar Even-Zohar’s polysystem theory with clear affinities to formalism and structuralism, and the work of his colleague Gideon Toury. Situating the translations in a wider cultural context, the polysystem theory paved the way for the so called ‘cultural turn’ in the early 1990s. It also shifted the focus away from the source text to the fortunes of the translation in the receiving culture. The emphasis is so securely on the target side that Toury’s entire work has even been defined as a project ‘to deconstruct source-oriented, static theoretical models of translation’

(Gentzler 1993, 132).

By now, the notion of difference in translation has become so commonplace that in his latest book Toury maintains that ‘the occurrence of shifts has long been acknowledged as a true universal of translation’ (1995, 57; cf. 84–85). The shifts, and the decision-making involved in them, are, according to Toury, norm-governed. The notion of norms, Toury’s central concept, is, in short, one way of explaining the differences and variability of translation. Referring to sociology and social psychology, Toury defines norms as ‘the translation of general values or ideas shared by a community – as to what is right and wrong, adequate and inadequate – into performance instructions appropriate for and applicable to particular situations, specifying what is prescribed and forbidden as well as what is tolerated and permitted in a certain behavioural dimension’ (ibid., 55). The definition makes it quite explicit that norms are intrinsically related to ethico-moral issues. This, however, is a dimension Toury forcibly avoids. He never touches the issue himself, and is openly critical of the attempt to incorporate ethical aspects in another target-oriented theory, skopos theory (ibid., 25; for more on skopos theory see Chapter 1.3. below). The obvious reason for this unfortunate omission is Toury’s wish to develop translation studies into a systematic, empirical and, most importantly, non-prescriptive scientific discipline. The mere thought of contaminating the data with non-observable or conjectural moral aspects may seem utterly undesirable. There is, however, no reason why a descriptive theorist could not also approach the ethical issues descriptively (see, e.g., Chesterman 1997), and refrain from personal value judgements if they are deemed to compromise the objective status of the observer. Another question, then, is whether such complete objectivity is ever attainable (is, for instance, Chesterman’s listing of ‘clarity’ among ‘fundamental translational values’ a purely descriptive statement or not?), or, for that matter, do not descriptive studies have, at least potentially, equal steering power on actual practice as prescriptive announcements?

Current translation theories from descriptive translation studies to feminist and postcolonial theories and from skopos theory to cultural theories all share the basic

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assumption that the essence of translation is not to be found in the reproduction of the original. As Sherry Simon has stated, ‘we realize that it is difference which interests us today’ (cited in Arrojo 1993, 71). Differences caused by translation are not only tolerated but often even celebrated. For example, Barbara Godard argues that translation signifies ‘difference despite similarity’, and that ‘[t]hough traditionally a negative topos in translation, “difference” becomes a positive one in feminist translation’ (1990, 93).

Seeing the historical developments as a linear progress from sameness to difference entails a deliberate simplification: in practice, developments are seldom that straight-forward. Rather, ideas evolve in relation and sometimes parallel to each other, and conflicting views can quite logically coexist (see also Chesterman 1997). A prime example is the concept of equivalence which has been a centre of debate for decades, some theorists building their models around it while others would like to dismiss it altogether (see Halverson 1997; Pym 1995c; Snell-Hornby 1988). One can, however, rather safely argue that views related to equivalence, similarity and translators’

subservience have lately been in decline in theoretical discussions, while conceptions stressing cultural and functional differences are more dominant.

Fidelity and loyalty

In contemporary translation theories the notion of ethics is often touched upon, but even though many translation theorists with a variety of different theoretical backgrounds have recently stressed the need to rethink the issue of ethics (e.g., Arrojo 1994; Chesterman 1997; Lane-Mercier 1997), the process of rethinking has only begun. As I intend to show in the course of this thesis, there are many promising attempts at finding new viewpoints on the issue of translation and ethics. But ethico- moral issues still seem to be a considerable touchstone for many theorists, and while translation has been perceived as a locus of difference, discussions of ethics are largely yet to follow suit. In spite of its obvious incompatibility with difference-oriented theories, the ‘supermeme’ of fidelity is still holding its own. Everyone seems compelled to produce their revised version of it, and attempts to redirect the discussion repeatedly turn back to the question of where the translator’s fidelity should be directed to. It seems that fidelity is still perceived as the word to be used in speaking about translation and ethics (Henry 1995, 370). For example, Sherry Simon’s interpretation of the feminist version of fidelity is that, instead of being faithful to the author or the reader, fidelity is to be directed towards the writing project itself (1996, 2). In other words, even if there is among feminist translators ‘deep suspicion of rules defining fidelity’ (ibid., 8), the explanatory power of the concept of fidelity itself is not truly questioned as long as the rules for definition are agreed on.

Suzanne Jill Levine’s answer to the burning question of fidelity has been to call herself a ‘subversive scribe’ who is ‘faithfully unfaithful’, subverting the surface level of the text while being faithful to its tenor (see Levine 1991, passim.; see also Chapter 4.2. below). This position has been fiercely criticised by Rosemary Arrojo, who considers it to be an ‘opportunistic brand of “faithfulness”’(Arrojo 1994, 152; cf. von Flotow 1997, 81S83). In my view, rather than being merely opportunistic or a sign of

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‘a bizarre sense of ethics’ (Arrojo 1994, 159), Levine’s statement is just one example of the unlimited use of fidelity. After tracing the long and winding history of the concept of fidelity, Louis G. Kelly summed up where the debate had led by the end of the 1970s: ‘Fidelity, then, was the obligation of deciding what was important, and the choice of how this was to be reproduced or represented in the target text.’ (1979, 211;

emphasis added) The quotation shows how much the limits of the concept had already been stretched.

In today’s discussions, fidelity can be defined in whatever way the speaker feels preferable. Arrojo’s own preferred version of fidelity stresses the cultural context informing the translator’s decisions: ‘The only kind of fidelity is the one we owe to our own assumptions, not simply as individuals, but as members of a cultural community which produces and validates them’ (1994, 160). Even among the revisionists of translation theory, there still seems to exist a hidden equation mark between fidelity and ethics, even though fidelity is often put inside quotation marks.

In spite of her rebellious tones, Susanne de Lotbinière-Harwood still considers professional translation ethics to be equal to fidelity to the auther (the feminine form of author) and the employer (1991, 154), and Rosemary Arrojo calls for not only a new kind of ethics but also a new kind of fidelity for the feminist translator (1994, 149). But the limits of the fidelity-based ethics are immediately visible in Lotbinière- Harwood’s next line where she continues by saying that the feminist translator is also personally committed to particular political aims. In negotiating these contrasting aims and dealing with split loyalties the translator really needs a sound ethical base. In other words, ethics is needed precisely at that point when the explanatory power of fidelity peters out. Rethinking the ethics of translation is one of the key issues for today’s translation theory, and it requires more than just redefinitions of fidelity.

The skopos theory developed by Hans J. Vermeer together with Katharina Reiss (see Reiss and Vermeer 1984; Holz-Mänttäri 1984; Vermeer 1996) includes an explicit attempt to reformulate the ethics of translation independently of the notion of fidelity. Vermeer’s functionalist approach has been supplemented by Christiane Nord to incorporate in it the concept of loyalty. Skopos theory has successfully integrated several new elements and agents in the theory of translation, and perceives translating as a purposeful activity guided by the aims and intended functions (the skopos) of the translation.⁴ Within this framework, the success or quality of a translation is not measured by comparing it with the original but by assessing how well it fulfils its skopos and meets the needs of the client and the target audience. Rather than retrospectively equivalent with the source text, the translation ‘should be prospectively adequate to a target-text skopos’ (Vermeer 1996, 77–78). In other words, ‘the translation purpose justifies the translation procedures’ (Nord 1997a, 124).

Functionalist approaches have turned the subservient image of the translator upside down, and depict the translator as a bi-cultural expert of intercultural communication, licenced to do whatever s/he considers necessary to fulfil the intended skopos (Vermeer 1996; Holz-Mänttäri 1984). Skopos theory has been criticised for granting the translators too much freedom, but according to Vermeer it is rather the other way round: ‘Skopos theory accords translators their due responsibility in the ‘world’‘

(1996, 14).⁵

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Even though Nord endorses the functionalist approach, she (responding to the critique) finds it too limited from the point of view of the relationship between the translator and the source text author (1997a, 124). This is the reason for supplementing the theory with the notion of loyalty. Loyalty, according to Nord, is a bilateral commitment to source text and target text situation, and the translator is responsible to both the source text sender and the target text recipient (1991, 29). It follows that loyalty limits the range of justifiable target-text functions: if the function is not compatible with the original author’s intentions, the translator is expected to negotiate and mediate, seeking the understanding of all sides (1997a, 125–128).

The concept of loyalty is obviously designed to soften the radical image of the skopos theory among more conservative theorists (see Vermeer 1996, 87, n. 3), but it is also explicitly intended to replace the old notion of fidelity. In addition to a reinforced emphasis on the target culture, Nord insists on differentiating loyalty as an interpersonal category from fidelity which she perceives as a relationship between texts (Nord 1997b, 48). The basis of this differentiation is, however, arguable: during its long history, fidelity has also often been seen as an interpersonal relationship (see Henry 1995; Kelly 1979, 44ff.). But compared to the notion of fidelity, loyalty does indeed offer a wider perspective. It is not limited to the relationship between the translator and either the source text or its writer.

The notion of loyalty is valuable as an attempt to integrate the discussion of ethics with the other theoretical developments of skopos theory. Compared to the rather omnipotent translator image of some earlier functionalist approaches, it is also a useful reminder that the translator is not alone in the process. There are also other participants with their particular aims and intentions, and their expertise in their own particular fields. Loyalty builds on ideas of responsibility, visibility and trust, which, as I intend to show in the course of this thesis, are all relevant in discussing the ethics of translation. But Nord has not yet ventured beyond the surface of these catchwords, and the concept of loyalty has not surpassed the immediate textual context (see Nord 1997b). It does not tackle the problem of conflicting interests and failed negotiations, nor the limits of visibility and self-awareness or the contradiction between visibility and trust, nor translators’ moral responsibilities related to the reality beyond the

‘bilateral commitment’. In its present formulation, loyalty does not therefore offer sufficient grounds on which to build a new ethics of translation (for a critique of loyalty see also Vermeer 1996, 79–101).

It is, however, becoming evident that the changes in translators’ working environment and the redefinitions concerning translation call for not only new working methods but also reformulations of the values and attitudes involved. It has even been predicted that the next stage of translation studies will be characterised by the theme of ethics (Chesterman 1997, 48). So far, the most thorough book-length attempts at rethinking the ethics of translation have been produced by Lawrence Venuti (esp. 1998a; aptly subtitled ‘Towards an ethics of difference’) and Anthony Pym (1997a). Both Venuti and Pym are rather solitary figures within translation studies in that, in contrast to theorists such as Christiane Nord (skopos theory) or Susanne de Lotbinière-Harwood (feminist translation), neither of them has any strong affinities with a particular school or group of theorists. In a way, this is the reason why I decided to focus specifically on Venuti and Pym: in other new approaches

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reformulations of ethics are often side-products, dealt with in passing or even only implied, whereas in both Venuti’s and Pym’s projects the issue of ethics is brought to the forefront. In the following, it is my intention to analyse these two proposals for an ethics of translation, trying to locate their new insights as well as unravel their weaknesses. I will then produce a synthesis of their views and, building on it, try to erect signposts to show useful directions for future discussions, making connections with other contemporary theories of translation as well. My analysis is based on a firm belief that translators live and work in a world that is far more complicated than any fidelity-based ethics can encompass. To be of any real value, any new ethics needs to take into account the many special features of the contemporary world.

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2. Postmodern ethics

Postmodernity

Postmodernity has been a fashionable concept in academic writing during recent years.

Its popularity has, however, rather added to than reduced the confusion around it.

There exists little agreement over what is meant by it either among those who employ it or among those who would like to dismiss it altogether. Basically, there are three intertwined senses of the word ‘postmodern’ (and similar ones of ‘modern’): (1) postmodernity as an era, (2) postmodern philosophies as attempts to grasp the peculiarities of that era, and (3) postmodernism, that is, responses to and expressions of the first two in the aesthetic realm (architecture, literature, visual arts etc.). What is understood by these three different categories is then a point of further debate. It is important to keep in mind that there does not exist any postmodern school or orthodox postmodern theory but a host of different writers. Therein lies the confusion about the term: for some people postmodernity refers only to Jean-Jacques Lyotard, who first brought the concept to public knowledge (see 1979; cf. Jameson 1991, 60–61), whereas others also add Jean Baudrillard and maybe a few others to the list. Recently, it has become more and more common to use it as an umbrella term to put together writers such as Foucault, Derrida, Lacan, Kristeva, Irigaray, Cixous, Spivak, and de Man. This latter view is also the one I have adopted in this thesis: for me the concept

‘postmodern’ functions as a loose label for the various critical theories of the past few decades.

In this context, my emphasis is on the first two senses of the word: first of all, I use the concept of postmodernity as a shorthand for our contemporary late-modern (Western) world. Fully aware of the fuzziness of the concepts of ‘modern’ and

‘postmodern’, I still find the notion of postmodernity a useful theoretical concept that can be used to designate a particular cultural context. I tend to agree with Fredric Jameson’s view that however many contradictory and conflicted meanings the notion of postmodernity has acquired, it is so essentially part of contemporary discourse that it is hardly possible not to use it (1991, xxii). This, I think, is true of recent translation theories as well. But since the word ‘postmodern’ has acquired so many different meanings, some of them significantly more coloured and more limited than in my usage, I find it important to devote some time and space to clarifying how I perceive postmodernity. My basic tenet is that there are in our contemporary world certain peculiar and distinctive traits which can be called ‘postmodern’. If modernity can be epitomised by faith in progress, growth and improvement, postmodernity can be characterised as an era of lost hopes and ambivalent feelings: technological progress has turned out to be a mixed blessing, causing as many problems as it has solved;

economic growth has been achieved in some already affluent countries only by the exploitation of others; societal improvements have not solved social problems, and

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extended projects like the welfare state have been eroded; and education and self- improvement are no longer seen as guarantees for success in life. In many ways, we currently live in ‘a runaway world’ (Giddens 1990, 151; see also Bauman 1993; Beck 1995).

This disillusionment has been called a variety of names, such as high or radicalised modernity (Anthony Giddens), reflexive modernity (Ulrich Beck), late capitalism (Fredric Jameson) or, most commonly, postmodernity. All these names imply not a disruptive shift with modernity but a changed mode of thinking.

Postmodernity has been defined as modernity becoming aware of itself (Bauman 1993;

see also Giddens 1990; Jameson 1991). In other words, modernity turns into postmodernity when it starts to contemplate and reflect on its own aims and results.

Or, conversely, postmodernity can be seen as a critique of modernity, or the state in which modernity begins to self-erode. Either way, postmodernity is still closely tied to modernity or even internal to it: it is not a departure into new directions, but it highlights the impasses reached in modern paths. It shows us the limits of modernity (cf. Drucilla Cornell’s renaming of deconstruction as ‘the philosophy of the limit’). To what extent postmodernity entails an irreversible shift away from modernity, or to what extent it is merely a temporary crisis, remains to be seen. But at the moment, the project of modernity is in many ways in serious trouble: ‘we are left with questions where once there appeared to be answers’ (Giddens 1990, 49).

A linear view on theoretical paradigms presupposes a clear-cut division of predecessors and successors and necessitates an answer to the question whether or not the shift from modernity to postmodernity has taken place. A less linear approach allows for the ambivalence: ‘Perhaps we live in a postmodern age, perhaps not’

(Bauman 1997, 79). Perhaps we are all Blendlinge (see Chapter 4.2. below), one foot resting securely on the edifice of modernity, the other already feeling the foothold trembling. The relation between modernity and postmodernity is less a clear-cut chronological succession than an unsteady coexistence. For example, the European Union is a modern project par excellence, aiming at centrally controlled differences and cohesion among the Member States, but at the same time it promotes postmodern tendencies by diminishing the role of another modern project, the nation-state.

Philosophers associated with postmodern views have become notorious for extremist statements (often quoted as celebrating ‘the end of history’ or ‘the death of the author’, or claiming that ‘there is no truth’ or that ‘there is nothing outside the text’; cf. Chapter 2.2. below), as well as for their often cryptic or even apocalyptic style of writing (see, e.g., Lehman 1991, 103–113 et passim.). It is therefore not surprising that they have not won unanimous support (although some commentators consider the new style of writing to be the best and most entertaining input of writers like Derrida; see Rorty 1993). It is also quite typical, among their friends and enemies alike, to take their claims at face value, without any attempt at historicising or contextualising them.⁶ The lack of any historical perspective is, by now, a severe problem. Many of the theorists have had an academic career of thirty years or more, and in addition to differences of opinion between those grouped under the heading of postmodern theories, any serious scholarly attempt at analysing them would have to try and take into account the different phases and changes in the texts of any one philosopher over the years. However, texts dating from different periods and different

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writers are often mingled together so that all differences are blurred. Within translation studies we should be especially alert to this problem since the discipline has been slow to participate in the discussion of postmodernity, and the ‘new’ ideas have only found their way into translation theory in the 1990s – sometimes more than twenty years after their first publication.

Postmodern theories are naturally not exempt from the important academic process of critique and self-correction. But it is deplorable that critiques of postmodern theories are often characterised by deliberate simplifications and exaggerations, and little attention is paid to the fact that we are not dealing with a unified movement.

Postmodern positions are depicted as either ridiculous and unacademic nonsense or as a form of juvenile cynicism only suited for angry young men dressed in black (see, e.g., Searle 1993; Airaksinen 1997). This caricature is then easy to dismiss. The resulting arguments against this self-created ‘postmodernism’ are sometimes wild enough to be amusing. For example, Airaksinen argues that supporters of the Greens cannot enjoy postmodern art, and vice versa: if you support postmodern theories you cannot truly care for ecological and environmental issues⁷ (1997, 129). The mock image of postmodern attitudes and postmodern theories, centred around the alleged amorality and laissez-faire attitude, distorts discussions of postmodern positions.

Instead of an exchange of pertinent arguments, they often become quasi-religious battles where everyone is called upon to take sides.

All this has made ‘postmodern’ a notorious label, and as a result, there is a tendency even among the proponents of postmodern positions to try and disentangle their favourite writers from its spell. A culmination of sorts may be Barry Smart’s conclusion that none of the philosophers he has discussed as major figures of postmodern theory (Foucault, Derrida, Lyotard, Baudrillard and Vattimo) may in fact be appropriately designated ‘postmodern’ (1999, 61). The issue of whether Derrida should be listed among the postmoderns or not has been controversial. Whereas critical commentators tend to see him as a descendant of the postmodern line starting from Nietzsche, many of his epigones have attempted to salvage him from the declining reputation of postmodern theories by claiming that he is not one of the bad guys. For example, Cristopher Norris (1990) and Drucilla Cornell (1992) give lengthy explanations as to why Jacques Derrida cannot be considered a postmodern theorist.

Admittedly, Derrida himself does not use the word ‘postmodern’. But in my vocabulary postmodern theories include a variety of critical approaches, and among them deconstruction is one of the more moderate responses to the postmodern condition (cf. Arrojo’s view of deconstruction as the strictest and most ruthless reading strategy among postmodern theories in 1998b).

The critique or even hostility towards postmodern philosophies can partially be explained by the extremism and ambivalence which tend to leave postmodern philosophers vulnerable to criticism. It is often easy to continue their line of argument ad absurdum, creating a ridiculous image of the whole theoretical framework (see, for instance, the extension of Derrida’s notion of différance to the act of walking in Tallis 1988, 216). However, I suspect the hostility may also occasionally be a projection of an unwillingness to accept some features of today’s world (Tallis’s critique, for instance, is motivated by his wish to raise the status of realistic fiction within literary circles). Accusing postmodern theories of introducing attitudes and tendencies that

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can, in fact, be interpreted as corollaries of modernity, some critics seem to be blaming the mirror for the image they are not happy with (on modern morality see Smart 1999).

A good case in point is the often expressed claim that postmodern theories reject the possibility of any reality outside the play of textuality (see also Chapter 5.4. below).

The simplistic counterargument, then, is to knock on a nearby table and question whether it exists or not. The debate is, in my view, rather pointless. It would be absurd to argue that physical objects do not exist. But it would be equally futile to argue that our understanding of the world is in no way linked to representations and interpretations. The real point is located elsewhere: our world is becoming ever more mediated and textual/digital, and instead of authentic experiences we are often confronted with virtuality, hyper reality or ‘simulacra’. One could argue that the most extended metaphor of postmodernity is the shopping mall. Instead of city streets and piazzas (urbanisation being one of modernity’s major projects), the shopping mall offers an artificial, simulated city, climatised and sterilised from the unwanted aspects of real cities (cf. the new TV wars in the Persian Gulf and the Balkans). It also epitomises the overall conversion of people from citizens to consumers, as well as the exclusion of those with not enough spending power.

To gain understanding of this shopping mall world, and of the ethical challenge it poses, I have found it useful to resort to theories that try to grasp its particularities and build on them. This, in other words, relates to the second sense of ‘postmodern’, postmodern theories and philosophical approaches. From among the various approaches I have selected two theorists: Jacques Derrida and Zygmunt Bauman. I have chosen to emphasise deconstruction because among postmodern theories it is the one most closely connected with translation theory (see Chapter 3.2. below). The main focus is thus on Derrida and deconstruction. Bauman, then, is extremely useful as a point of reference, his analyses of the postmodern condition functioning like a mirror on which to reflect the various approaches. Significantly, the two writers complement each other fruitfully and offer a rich array of viewpoints on the issues of ethics and translation.

Making a difference: deconstruction and ethics

Undecidability

I have argued above that deconstruction functions as a significant point of reference in contemporary translation theory. It is therefore necessary to sketch an outline of deconstruction and its relation to ethics and translation. It is not my place nor my intention to engage in the debate over the value of deconstruction, or postmodern theories in general, in the realm of philosophy, nor to provide an authoritative exegesis of Derrida’s work. My more modest aim here is to give a general introduction to those aspects of Derridean deconstruction that I see as most relevant for my present purposes (see also Koskinen 1994c). It follows that while I do not wish to dismiss all critical responses to deconstruction, and while I do provide my own commentary on those controversial aspects which are pertinent to my thesis, I do not see it necessary in this context to offer an extensive analysis of the massive literature both for and against

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deconstruction. In the following, I will also limit my discussion to Derrida’s own texts, with only limited references to the form of deconstruction as an institutionalised literary theory within the United States (for more on deconstruction in America see Comay 1991). The reason for my emphasis is two-fold: firstly, I consider Derrida’s position far more fruitful to the discussion of ethics (cf. the differentiation between

‘soft-core’ and ‘hard-core’ deconstruction in Lehman 1991, 118), and secondly, responses to deconstruction within translation theory are mainly linked to Derridean deconstruction, and references to Paul de Man and other American theorists are only made in passing.

Deconstruction, the extended project of Jacques Derrida, stretches from the mid-1960s to the 1990s. Attempting a simple definition of the by now massive corpus of a thinker who refuses to send a clear-cut message, it could be defined as a reading practice, a critical analysis:

To locate the promising marginal text, to disclose the undecidable moment, to pry it loose with the positive lever of the signifier; to reverse the resident hierarchy, only to displace it; to dismantle in order to reconstitute what is always already inscribed.

Deconstruction in a nutshell.

(Spivak 1976, lxxvii)

Putting a philosophical stance as elusive as deconstruction in a nutshell is, however, necessarily a rather violent simplification. Furthermore, Gayatri Spivak’s definition was formulated in the mid-1970s, and is thus naturally a reflection on early Derrida only. In time, deconstruction has encompassed issues further and further from the realms of philosophy and literary theory, moving towards more direct involvement in socio-political spheres: in the 1980s and 1990s Derrida has addressed, for instance, the problems of apartheid and animal rights. In a more recent introduction to Derridean deconstruction, Spivak focuses on this announced movement towards a second phase of deconstruction, alerting us to a greater emphasis on ethico-political issues (1999, 426 et passim.).

Whatever the subject matter, a deconstructive interpretation always attempts to reveal the inconsistencies, the aporias, and undecidabilities, that is, the limits of any particular viewpoint. Deconstruction functions as a constant reminder that every approach has its reverse side, that every vision is limited. What we see is always haunted by what remains unseen. This, of course, applies to the deconstructive critic as well. Deconstruction is always provisional. This indefiniteness of textuality can be tempting: ‘The fall into the abyss of deconstruction inspires us with as much pleasure as fear. We are intoxicated with the prospect of never hitting the bottom.’ (Spivak 1976, lxxvii)

The relation between deconstruction and ethics is both unsettled and unsettling.

For some, it represents a nihilistic (or hedonistic, as the above quote from Spivak indicates) withdrawal from the sphere of ethics.⁸ It is seen as an amoral play of textuality, or, in the most extreme, an apology for Nazism. The latter accusation stems from the controversy around Paul de Man – the leading representative of American deconstructionism – considering his juvenile collaborationism in war-time Belgium where he published articles with anti-Semitic sentiments.⁹ The revelation of the articles in the late 1980s created a scandal, and, equating first Paul de Man’s early

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political writings and his later theoretical work and then further Paul de Man and deconstruction, many concluded that the whole project of deconstruction is ethically questionable, if not implicitly Nazist. Since it detaches the text from its writer, it was claimed, deconstruction was defenceless against immoral or totalitarian thinking.¹⁰ The episode, and the criticism it evoked, no doubt enforced the so-called ‘ethical turn’ that the writings of Derrida and his interpreters have taken during the 1990s (see Critchley 1992, 3; Spivak 1999, 429).¹¹ The turn has not so much meant turning in new directions but bringing the underlying ethical considerations to the surface and working on them more explicitly. As many analysts have remarked, Derrida’s early writings do already contain the ethical aspect, but it is not manifest in an explicit discussion. In his later work, especially in his readings of Levinas, the ethical is brought to the forefront. A significant turning point is Derrida’s afterword to Limited Inc, titled ‘Toward An Ethic of Discussion’ (1997 [1988]). In it he confronts the ethical and political aspects of deconstruction with uncharacteristic explicitness and responds to various criticisms concerning, for example, undecidability, authority, relativism, and the de Man controversy. It is thus a good introductory text for anyone interested in hearing Derrida’s own views about the relation between deconstruction and ethics.

In deconstruction, textuality is not seen as a system of fixed meanings but as one open to changing interpretations. Its central ‘concept’, différance, is a neologism to emphasise that meanings are ‘always already’ somewhere else, temporally and positionally deferred. Texts are full of echos and traces of earlier texts, as well as laden with the yet unrealised potential future contexts they may enter (see Derrida 1972).

The repercussions of this view within the sphere of ethics have been interpreted in opposite ways. Some see it as an open invitation to indifference: the endless differences have been seen to blur all distinctions – among them the differences between good and bad, right and wrong, truth and lies. Among the play of differences, nothing makes a difference. Or worse, caught in the web of textuality we are unable to make a difference. Language speaks us, and we cannot control it. But this is a view Derrida does not accept. In the afterword to Limited Inc he gives an irritated comment:

[T]his definition of deconstruction is false (that’s right: false, not true) and feeble; it supposes a bad (that’s right: bad, not good) and feeble reading of numerous texts, first of all mine, which therefore must finally be read or reread. Then perhaps it will be understood that the value of truth (and all those values associated with it) is never contested or destroyed in my writings, but only reinscribed in more powerful, larger, more stratified contexts.

(1997, 146)

Derrida maintains that deconstruction is a positive and responsible action, not a licence to nihilism (e.g., 1992; 1997). Some readers have indeed perceived the ethical dimension, and parallel to the severe criticism of the amorality of deconstruction there exist equally strong views that one of the essential questions that deconstruction poses us is that of ethics¹² (see, e.g., Cornell 1992; Critchley 1992; Norris 1989; Spivak 1999; see also Koskinen 1996). In this interpretation, differance is seen to reinforce rather than dissolve personal responsibility: in a world where few things are preordained we are all responsible for making a difference. As Tobin Siebers (1988,

Beyond Ambivalence: Postmodernity and the Ethics of Translation

KAISA KOSKINEN

Beyond Ambivalence

Postmodernity and the Ethics of Translation

Beyond Ambivalence

KAISA KOSKINEN

Beyond Ambivalence

Postmodernity and the Ethics of Translation

Acknowledgements

Abstract

Contents

Preface

1. Introduction

Moral choices

From the ethics of sameness towards the ethics of difference

Fidelity and loyalty

2. Postmodern ethics

Postmodernity

Making a difference: deconstruction and ethics